


Gilded Genesis

by rebelle_elle



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-26
Updated: 2011-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:44:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelle_elle/pseuds/rebelle_elle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob Bishop never made it to Coyote Sands in 1961. Instead, a young man named Samson Gray took his place and helped new-found friends to found a company dedicated to protecting specials such as themselves.</p><p>Now, there's a killer on the loose, targeting people with abilities. Company agent Matt Parkman partners up with Audrey Hansen to find the killer, known only as "Sylar," while Agents Gabriel Gray and Noah Bennet try to find out what happened to Chandra Suresh's research assistant, last seen with Elle Bishop, a young woman with an unknown ability. A young nurse named Peter Petrelli begins to suspect he can fly and that his crush's boyfriend, Isaac, can predict the future. With his father long gone and his mother murdered years before, it's up to his brother, Nathan, to try to stop Peter from possibly killing himself. Their fates are starting to intertwine more and more as a homecoming game and the promise of immortality loom ever closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Villains

Gabriel hoped Noah was right about this. He hated parties, but if the Company needed him to go to a party, he would do it.

“It’s just surveillance,” Noah told him, rechecking the equipment. “You’ve been trained for this, Gabriel. Now are you an agent or not?” He spoke calmly, which wasn’t calming. Gabriel had noticed that the more nervous Noah was, the calmer he sounded.

He took a breath as he struggled with his tie. “Yeah. Yes. Agent.”

Noah sighed and leaned over, deftly knotting the tie. “You know the target?”

Gabriel nodded again and pushed his glasses back in place, his mouth dry. He had lived at the Company since he was a child; this was one of his first missions as an agent, and his first with such a woman as this. “Elle Bishop, implicated in the disappearance of Frank Cavanaugh. Unknown ability, if she even has one.” He checked himself in the mirror. They had to assume she had one as her father was a special. He suspected that her father’s ability – alchemy – was one of the reasons he had to go to this damned party; he disliked the man already.

“Are you ready?”

Gabriel nodded and took the keys from the panel. He’d never driven a Jaguar before, but having seen the Jaguar XJ the Company had supplied to help him blend in, he found himself looking forward to the drive over, if nothing else. It might be the only good part of this mission.

“Just remember. Relax.”

He nodded as he climbed out of the van. “Right.” He slid into the Jaguar and took a moment to run his fingers over the leather and test his grip on the steering wheel. He was finally beginning to enjoy himself. “I can do this,” he murmured.

“I can hear you,” Noah’s calm voice said from his earpiece.

Gabriel jumped, gave a small wave to the van, and peeled out of the parking lot.

* * *

The mansion sprawled before him on grounds was large enough that Gabriel couldn’t see the main road anymore. It was the sort of mansion new money would buy, and he wasn’t surprised to see how much gold there was in plain sight, with golden lanterns and gold wind chimes hanging from the trees lining the driveway. Gabriel couldn’t help but roll his eyes at how gaudy it all was. He was relieved to see Robert Bishop hadn’t turned the entire two-story brick structure to gold.

The car door was opened for him, as was the door to the mansion. Gabriel knew that Noah would follow the plan and park near the service road, but Gabriel still felt alone. He obviously didn’t belong. Everyone else looked comfortable in their designer clothing; Gabriel constantly had to force himself not to glance in mirrors and check his tie. It didn’t take him long to notice that he was the only person here whose hair wasn’t styled and gelled. And the only other people wearing black, thick-rimmed glasses were the people over sixty. Gabriel cursed his luck. He was undercover and stuck out like a moron.

He fell in with a group, trailing them, starting to sweat a little as he moved through the crowd. He wasn’t particularly good at mingling and didn’t bother to do so now, merely grabbing a drink from a tray and wandering around, looking for the target. Blonde, blonde, blonde. So many of these girls were blonde he wondered if they bothered lying about their natural hair color.

“See her?” Noah said in Gabriel’s ear.

Gabriel turned away from the room, pretending to admire a portrait. “No. I’ll keep an eye out, though.” He moved on, going from room to room as he sought one blond head in particular. As the second hour crawled to a close and he still hadn’t seen the target, more insistent questions came through the earbud, and Gabriel grew more frustrated.

On the verge of giving up, he went outside and sat on a lounge chair by the pool. He was already on his – he was vaguely sure - fifth drink, though as far as Noah knew he was still working his way through the second.

He leaned back on the chair, tactfully ignoring the half-naked couple making out a couple chairs down and feeling a little lightheaded. He shouldn’t drink, he knew that, especially on assignment, but with the night he was having…

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and he focused his gaze on the second floor. He only saw her for a second, but he was sure it was her, a perfect match to the photos in their folder and the smattering of pictures and family portraits in the mansion. He left his empty champagne flute on a table and got two fresh glasses on his way up.

Avoiding the more crowded rooms, he found a staircase and finally the room to which the window belonged. He stood outside the door for a few moments, wondering if he ought to knock and was on the verge of deciding against it when he realized his hands were full with the drinks. He closed his eyes, feeling like an idiot. He couldn’t turn away now; he was an agent with a mission. He’d got the champagne in order to fulfill that mission. He _had_ to do this. Besides, he was a little worried he’d drink both glasses otherwise, and he already felt as if he’d had too much. He drew a breath and kicked the door softly with a foot.

Of course, it was going to be harder to think up a cover story this way. He bit his lip and then nodded. When in doubt, it was best to go with the truth. He’d seen her through the window and had come to… what?

“See you…” he said, startled into speaking aloud as the door opened. He stared into the brightest pair of blue eyes he’d ever seen. “Um…”

The woman huffed, her frown becoming more pronounced beneath a faintly hooked nose. She was wearing a blue robe that stopped at mid-thigh, and he felt part of his brain disconnect as he wondered what she was wearing underneath. He forced his eyes back up, even if they were painfully slow to do so.

“What do you want?”

He slowly gathered his wits again as he stared into her pale face, ignoring the bangs that someone should brush out of her eyes for her. He had to stop his fingers from doing it. “I brought you… this.” He held up a glass.

She looked at it, then back at him. “I don’t drink.”

“Oh. I’ll drink it, then.” He was still staring, knowing he had muddled this somehow but not sober enough to know what to do about it. “I’m Gabriel. Gabriel Gray.”

She stared at him, and right as he began to fear she would shut the door in his face, she said, “Elle Bishop.”

Thank God. They’d covered this part of the conversation at the Company when he and Eden had been practicing what he ought to say. “Bishop. Bob’s daughter, right? I was hoping to run into you here.” He flinched. That hadn’t come out right. They hadn’t run through introductions at her bedroom door in his practice conversations.

She raised an eyebrow; he couldn’t tell if she was naturally this pretty or if she’d had work done. She looked like an angel. “In my bedroom?”

“At the party,” he said quickly. “I just saw you through the window and thought I’d take my chance.”

She stared at him long enough that his arms started to ache from holding up the glasses. He felt ridiculous. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Gabriel. Gabriel Gray.”

“Well, Gabriel Gabriel Gray, you aren’t my type. Good night.”

“Good ni-” But he was already talking to her door.

* * *

Elle curled up in her bed. She knew it couldn’t still be there, but she kept seeing blood on her hands, and all the showers she’d taken in the past week could wash it off.

She looked from her hands to the TV and hugged a pillow to her chest. She didn’t want to be weak, didn’t want to be the stupid girl people expected her to be, nothing more than pretty and rich. She wanted to be more. She wanted her dad to look at her with pride.

She wanted to be strong.

* * *

“That didn’t go very well,” Noah said as he climbed out of the van. Gabriel knew he must have done badly as he hadn’t even turned off the Jag and Noah was already preparing a lecture. He couldn’t imagine how Noah would treat him if his father weren’t Samson Gray, one of the Founders of the Company. He’d never admit it out loud, but there was a part of Gabriel that hated his father; he had seen the way Samson looked at some people with abilities, as if they were tasty treats with prizes inside. Gabriel had felt that lust before, though he would never tell anyone that.

“It didn’t go according to plan, no.” He pulled at the knot in his tie. Noah had heard her reject him, and though Noah wasn’t a gossip, there was no telling how many people at the Company knew by now. He dreaded filing the report.

“Am I going to have to take you off this case?” Noah asked, his voice still painfully calm.

Gabriel’s gut twisted. “No! No. I can do it. I will do it.” He wasn’t what most women wanted, he knew. He’d seen the guys Company women talked about, leading men in movies and television shows. Men who had never had eyebrows as thick as Gabriel’s or had noses as… Well, if Gabriel were being honest, sometimes he looked in a mirror and thought he looked like an ape. But then, he’d thought that since he was a teen. “I can do this, Noah.”

Noah watched him, his hands on his hips, and nodded at last, turning back toward the van. “I’ll see you at the Company tomorrow. We’ll plan the next move.”

Gabriel nodded. He wouldn’t fail the Company, the people who had raised him. He would find out what ability Elle Bishop had and what part she had played in Frank Cavanaugh’s disappearance. And then… he would do what an agent had to do.

* * *

Elle Bishop had often wished her life were different. She didn’t care how, she just didn’t want her life. She didn’t want to be Elle Bishop anymore.

She hated her life even more now that she had killed Frank Cavanaugh.

She never would have done it if Daddy hadn’t kept treating her as if she were something to show off and nothing more. Do this, Elle. Do that, Elle. No, Elle, you must be perfect. Elle, you don’t exist if you aren’t perfect. You have to be better, Elle. Why can’t you be better, Elle. Better, better, better.

And then she’d met Frank. He’d been sweet, not terribly attractive but charming enough to skate by. Tall, blondish-brown hair, tan. He was from California, a friend of a friend, studying genetics and physics. He was smart, and if she weren’t pretty and rich, she wouldn’t have known what he saw in her. It was during coffee in the City that he’d gently tapped her forehead and said, “Electricity, right?”

She’d been frightened at first – almost panicked. How could he know? What had she done? Had anyone else found out?

He’d explained his ability, how he could see other special people, identify what was special about them. She’d been fascinated, and he’d told her everything.

They’d met only four times through February and March, talking about abilities, themselves… She had never been able to talk so freely about her ability before. Her parents had always made it clear that she wasn’t to mention it to anyone but them, and they didn’t want to talk about it. He had asked about her, her ability, and she had been… flattered. Finally, someone who looked at her as if she were special. As if she mattered.

And then there was the night she’d gone to his apartment. She’d shown up early, interrupted him. She’d found the file half-hidden under a pillow while he was getting ready to go to dinner. Frank had been studying genetics, all right, but specifically people with abilities. Elle had read the hand-written notes silently, and when he came out of the bathroom, asked, “Who’s Chandra Suresh?”

He looked from her to the file, his expression turning angry. “Nobody,” Frank snapped. He didn’t so much as glance at her as he reached for the file.

Elle had stared at him, cold. He’d snapped at her as if she were nothing. He’d grabbed the file away as if she were nothing.

The next thing she had known, she had been standing over his body, blood everywhere, his skull cracked open.

She had somehow known just what to do. After she cleaned up, she went to the address in the file and knocked on the apartment door. It was time to get some answers. The man was Indian, and one glance using Frank’s ability told her he was nothing special.

“Dr. Suresh?” She smiled at the bald man with a salt-and-pepper beard. He looked at her in confusion, and she hurried to explain. “I’m looking for Frank – he told me he works for you. May I come in?”

* * *

Gabriel watched Elle walk into Etienne’s and pressed a finger to his ear. “Do you hear me all right, Noah?”

“Yes, Gabriel. I hear you.”

Gabriel tried to ignore how tired Noah sounded as he got out of the car and hurried across the street. He stood behind her for a few seconds, pretending not to see her as he spoke over her head to the waiter, asking for a table. He glanced down at her absently and widened his eyes. “Oh! Hi!” He paused. “Elle, right?”

“Yeah.” She looked at him closely for a few moments and then turned away again. He had the distinct feeling he’d been dismissed, and he didn’t like it.

“So what brings you here?” he pressed, moving to stand beside her.

“Lunch.”

“You’re losing her, Gabriel.” Noah’s voice was clipped, and Gabriel could hear the silent, “If you ever had her at all.”

Gabriel frowned and held up two fingers to the hostess. “Table for two, please.” He glanced at Elle and grinned. “I’ll pay?” She frowned but didn’t protest, and he motioned for her to walk in front of him, chatting about the party and how good it was to see her again and finally – God help him – the weather.

She didn’t speak until they were seated and alone. “Okay, Gabriel, what is this about?”

He stared at her, leaned back as the hostess brought them water and muttered something about wanting tea. When they were alone again, she repeated her question.

“Tell her you just want to get to know her better,” Noah instructed.

“I just wanted to get to know you better.”

“Why?”

Gabriel didn’t need help answering this one. “I think you’re- um, well, I think you’re beautiful.”

Her eyes flashed, and he couldn’t understand why. “Is that all?”

Christ, no wonder Gabriel had so little to do with women. They were easy on the eyes and hard on everything else. And some of them weren’t even easy on the eyes. “I wanted to see you again.”

She stood. “I don’t want to see you. I don’t know what your game is, but you’d better stop. I’ll call the cops if I see you again.”

He watched her walk away and ignored Noah talking calmly into his ear.


	2. Don't Look Back

Simone gave the dweeby guy a sympathetic smile as she passed. She’d been able to hear enough from her table that she felt bad for him, even if she couldn’t blame the blonde. They didn’t look like they were from the same planet, much less the same city. Though she felt as if she’d seen them somewhere before… Oh, well. It was New York. That was bound to happen.

She left him sitting alone and headed for the hospital, glad to see which nurse was on duty when she entered her dad’s hospital room. “Peter.” It had been awkward at first having Peter as Dad’s nurse. Their families were close enough that her dad had donated to Nathan’s campaign and even tried to mentor him to an extent. She had seen Peter at parties since they were children, often from across the room as he sat forlornly at the children’s table on child entertainment duty. They’d separated for the most part once they reached high school, but now that she’d gotten to know him better, she doubted there was a better nurse at Mercy Heights.

He turned, and for a moment she got the impression he was checking her out, but then he was looking at her dad’s clipboard and the moment was past. “Simone. Hey.”

“Ah, the prodigal daughter returns.” She looked behind Peter at the figure in the bed, looking so much frailer than he had as little as a month ago. His hair was going gray, and he’d lost weight. His skin had taken on a chalky undertone.

“Dad, you’ve only got one daughter.”

“That you know about,” he teased.

She exhaled harder than necessary, disgruntled. How dare he make light of the situation.

“Always so serious,” he muttered.

Simone pursed her lips and turned back to Peter. “Could I talk to you in the hall?” Peter nodded, and she led the way, her arms crossed and her boots clopping against the linoleum. “So what’s wrong with him? What can you do?”

Peter looked at her and hesitated, and in that moment, she knew. She took a step back. “No.”

“I’ve called hospice,” Peter admitted, seeming almost ashamed of himself. “Simone, look. This is something you should be talking about with his doctor, and I’m just a nurse.”

Simone shook her head. She’d barely seen Dr. Mitchell. Peter was the one who had been with her dad since Charles had been rushed to the hospital after Simone had found him on his floor, gasping for breath. “Tell me.”

Peter hesitated again, running a hand through his hair. “The fact is, Charles is just… old. There’s no cancer to work on, no pacemaker to install… His body has just decided it’s time to go.”

She clamped a hand over her mouth and held it there tightly. Maybe if she didn’t breathe, she wouldn’t be able to cry.

“I think he’s decided it’s time to go, too,” Peter said gently. “He’s not surprised by it. He’s been telling me that he’s lived a full life.”

Simone sniffled and tried to pull herself together, ignoring the stinging in her eyes. “How much time does he have?”

Peter shrugged. “I’d guess a month or two. Hospice specializes in this, though. They’ll narrow it down for you.”

She nodded even though she knew she wouldn’t remember enough of this later.

“I wrote it down,” Peter told her quietly. He handed her a notepad where he’d written several pages of notes in somewhat legible chicken scratch. “I was talking about it with Charles, and those are some things we figured you might need to know.”

Simone read over the notes, keeping her eyes down and trying to ignore the lump in her throat. She was strong. She could do this. She didn’t have a choice. Her eyes threatened to spill over, and she looked up before they had the chance. Ever since her mother had died, she’d tried to be strong for her dad, and now he was going to need her to be stronger than ever. There would be time to cry later. “And there’s nothing-”

Peter shook his head. “Dr. Mitchell will be by soon to tell you the same thing. But I knew you wouldn’t want to wait.” He bit his lip for a moment. “He’s a great guy, Simone.”

She tried not to scoff. “I think he feels the same way about you.”

He grinned, and she noticed again that his smile was lopsided. Not that she minded. It made him look sort of cute. “That’s nice of him.”

“Nice of him?” Simone echoed. “He talks about you whenever I visit and that’s all I get to hear?” He shifted uncomfortably, and Simone finally decided to take pity on him. “I should go sit with Dad and wait for Dr. Mitchell.”

“It shouldn’t take long,” Peter said hurriedly.

“That hospital time, or real time?”

Peter looked embarrassed again, but he grinned nonetheless, as if she’d said something truly funny. He couldn’t possibly have a crush on her, could he? “Hospital time.”

Simone sighed. “I’ll see if Dad will lend me a pillow.”

“I’ll get you one before I go,” Peter promised. He paused and ducked his head. “Just in case, I mean.”

She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. She offered him a smile. “Thanks.” She glanced through the window to her dad’s room and steeled her shoulders. Forcing a smile, she sat in Peter’s vacated chair. “Hey, Dad.”

“You know that boy got off work over an hour ago?”

She blinked at him, not sure what they were discussing. She was still processing that her father was dying and she’d have to spend the better part of her afternoon waiting for a doctor to make it official. She’d expected her dad to be more upset. But then, that was her dad. Always so open and caring, no matter what. And that ever-loving, always patient presence would be gone in less than two months. “What?”

“Came by on his way home and stayed to talk.” Oh. Talking about Peter, who had talked with Dad about- His sharp eyes studied her. “He told you.”

Simone swallowed. “He told me.”

Charles nodded and settled back in his seat. “Figured he would. He’s a good man, Peter. He’s gonna change the world one day. Good thing he turned out like he did.”

She bent forward and kissed his forehead. He suddenly looked tired, weaker. “I swear, Dad. Sometimes you don’t make any sense at all.”

“Ah, you just wait.” His eyelids were already drooping. “Your old man still has a few tricks left.”

* * *

Simone was late. Isaac stared at the painting on the easel, the paint still drying. A girl in a cheerleading uniform, running from something out of sight. All Isaac could see was a shadow stretching across the floor, long and dark and menacing. It would fit in perfectly with Ninth Wonders.

Except Isaac couldn’t remember painting it. He couldn’t remember painting the one beside it, either, of a man leaning off a rooftop with a smile on his face.

He ran his hands through his hair. What had happened to make him paint it? Sure, he’d been zoned out before, but he’d never painted anything like that when he was chasing.

Trembling, he reached for a needle. Those paintings reminded him of one he’d done for his show, another he couldn’t recall doing. He’d first seen it sitting on an easel with paint drying, but he couldn’t remember sketching the bus or the girl in front of it. He could, however, remember how upset the woman had been when she’d seen the painting in the gallery, how she’d stormed out, wearing the same dress Isaac had painted her in.

The image of her being struck by the bus on her way across the street was burned in his mind.

He had been shocked at the time. Dumbfounded. It was as if he’d painted the future.

When he’d been able to think again, he’d even looked into it. There were enough details in his paintings to give him a starting point. A bus bombing, a plane crash… Isaac had painted them all weeks before they’d happened.

It was one reason why the painting on the floor of his loft scared him so much.

* * *

Elle liked Chandra. Of course, after this, she would have to kill him. This new ability she was investigating was too juicy to keep pretending she’d shown up out of concern for Frank and had stayed to help Chandra with his work. To him, she was nothing more than a bored rich girl with a heart of gold who could answer his questions about her ability. To her, he was nothing more than a list of names and addresses he was giving out all too slowly. He was finally trusting her enough to let her go on interviews alone, and this was her third time out. She’d left the other two alive. Who would ever want to freeze stuff? Lame. Though that kid... Elle wondered what ability little Molly Walker had. Oh, well. That was what she got for stopping by during school hours. It was probably some stupid ability, anyway.

She smiled as Judith Forsythe’s door open. “Ms. Forsythe? Hi. I don’t know if Dr. Suresh has already spoken to you, but I was really hoping I could come in and talk with you. I swear it won’t take long. I’ll try to be out of your hair as soon as possible.”

Judith looked at her suspiciously. “I don’t do surveys.”

“This isn’t a survey, ma’am. It’s about- Well, has anything… weird been happening to you lately?”

Judith didn’t answer for a few seconds. It wasn’t the outright refusal Elle had feared, and she took the opportunity to say, “It’s okay, Ms. Forsythe. Dr. Suresh and I can help.” She checked to make sure the hallway was empty, held up her hand, and let Judith see the sparks playing along her fingers. If this woman’s ability was worth the trouble, she’d take it. Her father had already made it abundantly clear she wasn’t good enough as she was.

The older woman frowned, thinking it over. “I’m sorry. What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t. Elle Bishop.”

Half an hour later, Elle smiled as she tested Judith’s ability, her smile widening as a copy of the fork she held in her right hand formed in her left. Oh, yes. She was beginning to enjoy herself.

* * *

Peter set his tray on the table and dropped into the seat across from Emma, waiting until she glanced at him to say, “Hey, Em.”

She gave him a small wave and set aside her book, plucking her earbuds from her ears.

Peter awkwardly signed hello and asked how her day had been, and she smiled crookedly before answering that it had been exciting as usual. He frowned as her gestures continued. “An explosion in the file room?”

She nodded and signed as she spoke. “It looks better than before.”

They grinned at one another, both of them looking up as Hesam slid his tray into place next to Peter, who eyed Hesam’s heavily laden tray. “What?” Hesam asked defensively. “I’m a growing boy!”

Peter grinned and shook his head.

“Besides, you’re the one that should be eating more. What if your brother gets elected?”

Peter shrugged. “He’s trailing in the polls.”

“’Cause he’s a shark. Everybody knows it.” Emma nodded her agreement.

Sighing, Peter poked his green beans with a fork. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before.

Hesam chuckled at Peter’s reaction and leaned back in his chair, gripping the table as the front two legs came off the ground. One day, Peter thought ruefully, that habit was going to get Hesam hurt. Leaning forward again, Hesam pointed to a cookie on Emma’s tray. “Going to eat that?”

She made a face and grabbed it protectively.

He laughed again and leaned back in his chair. “And another thing, your brother can’t always push his wife around. I know he wants the sympathy vote – everybody knows – but it’s kind of obviously. Yeah, people are more likely to vote for the guy whose wife is in a wheelchair, but when it’s obvious that’s what the guy is doing?”

“Yeah, Heidi’s talking about doing more. She’s already talking about visiting schools and women’s groups.”

Hesam nodded and leaned back in his chair. “That’d be cool. Kind of tame, though. She should come to Mercy Heights, you know? Do photo ops. Or, you know what would get the youth vote?”

“Hm?”

Hesam rocked on the chair’s back legs as he envisioned it. “If she strapped rockets onto her wheelchair.”

Peter stared at him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously! And she could have little American flags on it and stuff! You could set up a track to make sure it’s safe.”

Peter shook his head. “You’re the worst joker ever.”

Hesam laughed. “What? I’m serious, man. She seems bad-ass enough to do it! At least suggest it, all right?”

Peter rolled his eyes and was grateful when Emma broke the cookie and offered Hesam half.

“Finally!” Hesam leaned forward to grab the cookie, letting go of the table. He cursed as he realized the chair hadn’t righted itself yet. He tried to grab the table, but the chair had already leaned too far back again.

Peter quickly grabbed his arm, but Hesam’s weight jerked his own seat back, and before he quite knew what was happening, he was falling backward. He braced for impact and then, oddly, had the weirdest sensation that he was actually floating. He blinked in surprise, remembering the dreams he’d been having where he’d flown through New York’s sky scrapers. It was so much like those...

And then he hit the ground, at least a full second after his chair did. He stared at the others in disbelief. Had they seen that? He didn’t want to say anything to them; it sounded crazy, and Nathan had already brushed off Peter’s dreams as just dreams. He’d probably say this was just a delusion.

Hesam stood and held out a hand to help him up. “Just for that, I’ll vote for your brother. Thanks, man. You saved me.” He set Peter’s chair back in place, and Peter sat hastily, embarrassed by how many people had turned to watch.

Emma gave him half of her remaining cookie. “For the hero,” she said with a smile.

“Ha,” Hesam teased. “I got more than you.”

Peter gave him another rueful glance and then stared thoughtfully at his cookie. Hero. Sounded nice. He took a bite.

Had he really just flown, though? Well, not flown, exactly, but hovered?

There was only one way to find out. And this time, he’d make sure Nathan was there. His brother wouldn’t be able to deny it then.

* * *

Audrey Hanson drew to a stop when she entered Dr. Chandra Suresh’s apartment. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

The man in the suit turned toward her, and she could see the moment he decided she wasn’t a threat. “Question is, what’s an FBI agent doing here?”

“How’d you know I was FBI?” She’d detected the disdain in his voice, and she didn’t like it.

He pointed at the badge clipped to her hip.

Of course he’d seen that, she thought ruefully. The fat bastard had her so worked up with his invasion of her crime scene that she’d ignored the obvious. Speaking of which… “You need to leave, sir. This is a crime scene.”

“Doesn’t look like a crime scene to me.” He waved his hand at the apartment, where everything was in its place, clean and orderly, no sign of a struggle.

Audrey had never been so disappointed.

She took a step into the room, in part to see what he did about it, and looked around. She hated to admit it, but she was relieved when he didn’t challenge her. “I still need to look around.”

“Sure.” The man waved an arm to the apartment. “Just don’t disturb anything. Dr. Suresh is touchy about that.”

Audrey gave a brief nod and took a walk around, peeking into each room and not acknowledging the man again until she was done, despite how he followed her with his eyes the entire time. Just to spite him, she took as long as she could before saying, “Looks like a false alarm. Sorry to bother you, sir.” False alarm, her ass. All her leads in the Sylar case had led to this man. This apartment. Suresh was the key, she knew it.

The man’s good-natured grin froze in place, and he spoke a second later than most people would have. “Told you so.”

Audrey watched him closely, her eyes narrowed. “How well did you know Dr. Suresh?”

“Pretty good. We work at Primatech Paper together. See?” He handed her a business card for the paper company that she scrutinized before tucking it in her pocket.

“So what are you doing here? Coworkers I know don’t tend to hang out outside of office hours.”

His expression had changed again. Just for a second. He was definitely hiding something. “His family’s in India. I come by every so often to keep him from getting too depressed, make sure he’s eating okay, all that.”

That sounded like a load of crap.

“God’s honest truth,” he said, lifting his hands in the air. “Why would I lie about someone working at a paper company?”

She didn’t answer, instead handing over a business card. “Have him give me a call when he comes in.” She frowned at him as he took it, still wondering what he was hiding. One thing was for sure, she was going to go downstairs and talk to the woman who had called in the supposed fight she’d heard. “I’ll see myself out.”

And if the guy – Matt Parkman, according to his card – got in her way? She’d see him straight to hell.

* * *

Matt tapped his gloved fingers on the counter as he waited for Samson to pick up the phone. He had often thought messages like this could be delivered much more smoothly in person, or at least with Matt in telepathic range to tell Samson what was going on, but Samson was always too busy to meet, and Maury had told Matt that he was more useful as an agent, scurrying around the country and doing the Company’s dirty work. Sometimes, he wondered if he was right to do what the Company told him to do, but then someone like Sylar came along and convinced him that specials needed monitoring just like the Company said.

Now that Agent Hanson was gone, he was the only one who could see Chandra’s body sitting in the leather reclining chair. Chandra’s head had fallen forward, and Matt could clearly see the bump beneath the hair matted with blood. The scientist’s papers were scattered around the room, and it was only luck that had kept Hanson from tripping over them.

At long last, the soothing Phil Collins music cut out, and Matt wasted no time in saying, “Agent Audrey Hanson knows about Sylar.”

Instead of the seconds of shocked silence Matt had expected, Samson’s response was sharp and quick. “How?”

“I don’t know. I just heard her think the name.”

“And does she know about specials?”

Matt looked around the apartment as he replayed the scene in his mind. “I didn’t pick up on anything like that. She seems to think it’s a regular serial killer.”

“Regular, huh?”

“Yeah. I’d have to guess the M.O. confuses her.”

“Huh. And Chandra?”

“Dead. I’d have to say Sylar did it.”

“Sylar? What points to that?”

Matt stooped to look more closely at the wound, careful to keep his shoes out of the blood splatter. “His head was sliced. He was beaten to a pulp after, possibly to misdirect. Maybe Sylar thought Chandra had some sort of ability. His stuff has been tossed. No valuables taken, but it’s going to take a while to determine what was stolen. Chandra wasn’t a rich man. And the only thing he had worth killing for was his research. Too much of a coincidence, sir, and I don’t think we should treat it like one.”

Samson was silent as he thought. “Very well. Find Agent Hanson and convince her to let you work with her. Find out what she knows. Keep tabs on her. I’ll work on replacing Chandra.”


	3. One Giant Leap

Mohinder flicked the switch for the fan, tossing his satchel on a chair. He drew up short when he saw a bearded man sitting at his desk. “Can I help you?” He kept his voice calm, polite, not sure yet if he was dealing with a lost tourist or a complete psycho.

The man stood up and smiled, extending a hand. “Mohinder Suresh, I presume.”

Mohinder cautiously shook the man’s hand as he tried to remember where he’d left his cricket bat. “And you are?”

“Samson Gray. I worked with your father.” Mohinder’s eyes widened. His father. Mohinder had heard of his murder only a day ago, and he was only here to continue cleaning out his father’s possessions. “He worked for me, actually. And I’ve been reading some of your papers. You’re a lot like him.”

Mohinder knew he was supposed to be gratified, but families, he knew, saw different aspects of one another than people on the outside looking in. “Thank you.”

“I’m very sorry for what you’re going through.” Samson sank back into his chair. “You’ll have to forgive me for not standing more. I was recently diagnosed with cancer.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mohinder said politely. “Is there anything I can get you?” How had the man even got in?

Samson smiled as if he knew what Mohinder was thinking. “You can come work for me. Take your father’s position.”

Mohinder stared at him. “My father is- was a taxi driver.”

Samson laughed. “No, he worked for me as my lead scientist investigating people with abilities. People such as myself.” He pointed to a teacup on Mohinder’s counter; the teacup lifted itself into the sink.

Mohinder gaped. “He- He was right.”

“He was.”

“People like you- people like you exist.”

“We do.”

“And my father worked for you.”

“He did.” Samson smiled thinly. “And I’m offering you the same opportunity I did to him, to further your research and be well-paid to do so. No more sniveling, disbelieving children who are only in your class because the others were full.”

Mohinder was about to correct him and say they weren’t children, but he understood Samson’s meaning.

Samson held out a plane ticket. “You start Monday.”

Mohinder looked at his discarded messenger bag, remembering the talk he’d had with the Dean earlier in the week. He wouldn’t have a job at the university much longer anyway. No one wanted a teacher spouting crackpot theories. He reached out to take the ticket, reading it carefully. “So I do.”

* * *

Simone frowned at the recent batch of paintings Isaac had done. She supposed they were more of his “paint the future” paintings, but she was still struggling to accept that he even thought he was capable of that. Until she figured out what to do about his apparent delusions, she had decided to carry on as she had been, acting as his agent, lover, and sometimes friend. Right now, though, she was fully in her agent mode, and though she tried to be kind, she couldn’t be dishonest. “I can’t sell these,” she said at last, disappointment seeping into her tone.

“I know,” Isaac muttered, hands shaking as he tried to drink his tea. If he were alone, he would be chasing again, but Simone was watching him too closely. Isaac was pretty sure he knew why; he didn’t look like he’d showered in days, and he probably smelled like it, too.

“No one’s going to want to buy them! Why did you even paint them?” she snapped. God, he infuriated her sometimes. Didn’t he have an ounce of common sense? “It would be different if they were meant for Ninth Wonders-”

“No!” His utter refusal surprised her, and she turned to him, eyes wide as he tried to calm down, towel wrapped tightly around him to try and fend off the chill. “They aren’t for Ninth Wonders. No one can see these, Simone. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. But- but I painted this, too.” He showed her one more painting that he’d tucked away. She swallowed as she took in the sight of mass graves, scraps of Isaac’s artwork blowing over unburied corpses. “Look. Whoever is going to do this, they’re going to use my art to help them. I can’t let that happen, Simone. I need you to destroy them.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

“Simone, no one can see these. _No one_. I trust you. Just… get rid of them. Please.”

She glowered at him for several minutes, finally throwing her hands up in the air. “Fine. Fine. But next time, don’t call me to see your artwork unless you intend to sell it. Is that clear?” She turned back to the paintings, reevaluating. She could still make more money by selling them to some idiot than destroying them, someone so pleased to have an Isaac Mendez they wouldn’t mind that the painting was terrible. Isaac didn’t understand that he needed money in order to live, and that was where Simone came in. She took care of him. He hated it, but she took care of him.

She was barely out the front door with the new paintings before she was calling the best nurse she knew.

* * *

Audrey Hanson bent over a body, staring at the pool of blood where a head should have been. The body was frozen solid, and she didn’t even know where to start finding the cause for that one. Someone cleared his throat behind her. “Oh. Parkman. What’s a paper seller doing at a crime scene? You work with her, too?”

“Never seen her before in my life.”

“And her husband?”

Parkman shrugged. “We both know you think I don’t sell paper.”

“Do we now.” She got to her feet, her back sore from bending over for so long. “What else do we both know?”

“That you’re out of your league on this case. You’re looking for someone with superpowers.”

“Superpowers.”

“Superpowers.”

Audrey looked around and waved an agent over. “Get this guy out of here, would you?”

“Why do you think all their brains are missing?” Parkman ignored the man tugging on his arm before sighing in exasperation and staring at the guy. A moment later, the man walked off as if nothing had happened.

Audrey stared after him, then looked suspiciously at Parkman. “What did you just do?” And how much had he paid an officer of the law to defy an FBI agent?

“I work for a company. We try to keep people safe from people with abilities. Whoever did this? Had abilities. They’re… hunting people like us.”

“People with superpowers.”

“Yep.”

“Us. You have a superpower? What is it? Annoying me?”

Parkman grinned. “Telepathy. I told your officer there to ignore me, and that’s precisely what he’s going to do. I could shoot you right now, and he’d ignore me completely.”

She reached for her gun, not wanting to find out if that was an empty threat or not.

“You don’t want to do that,” Parkman told her. And… she didn’t. She really didn’t want to shoot him. It had probably been a simple misunderstanding. “Exactly.”

She frowned at him. “You really expect me to believe you’ve got superpowers.”

Parkman grinned modestly and shrugged. “Or you could refuse to believe me. But you and I both know what’s been going on isn’t going to stop, and it can’t have been done by more... usual means.” He met her stare. “I was going to offer to help.”

After a long pause, Audrey nodded. “If you can make Mark come in and do what I’m thinking, I’ll agree to work with you. _With_ you. Not under you. Not around you, _with_ you.”

Parkman nodded. “First of all, his name is Marcel. And I’ll have him doing the chicken dance in no time.”

* * *

Peter gave up asking what Simone wanted help with when she opened the door to the loft and started calling for Isaac. Isaac. Right. The boyfriend.

Peter quietly closed the door behind them, dreading what Simone was going to ask him for. She’d already asked for needles, and Peter had gotten them, thinking maybe Charles needed help. Instead, she had brought him to her boyfriend’s place. It couldn’t possibly end well.

“What is he doing here?”

Peter turned and sized up the guy who was standing there in nothing but pants, with a blanket around his shoulders, holding a bowl of cereal. He’d been hoping that Isaac would be old and somewhat fat, or at least have some glaring physical deformity or green, scaly skin. No such luck. Isaac was actually the sort of guys most girls went for. Thick black hair, dark eyes, and through an opening in the blanket, Peter could glimpse a six-pack. When did the guy have the time or energy to work out?

Just his luck, really. And just another indication of what little chance he had with Simone.

“This is Peter. I was hoping he could help.”

“I don’t need his help,” Isaac snapped.

“Yes, you do.” Simone shoved past him and pointed at some of the paintings Isaac had leaned against the wall. “He thinks he can paint the future. I think he’s crazy.”

Peter walked forward, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. That all stopped when he saw the paintings. “Is that me?”

Isaac looked from him to the painting of a young man leaning off the roof of a building. “Could be.”

“No, it’s me. That’s what I was wearing the day I jumped off the roof.”

Simone stared at him. “The day you tried to kill yourself.” She stared back at the painting.

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I was trying to fly.”

Now they both stared at him.

“So,” Simone said slowly, “I came to the wrong person about Isaac being crazy.”

“I’m _not_ crazy.” Isaac faltered. It _did_ sound crazy. He thought he could paint the future? And Peter thought he could fly. He watched Simone as he remembered his sketches of her and... he could only suppose the other man was Peter. He chose not to point out that Simone seemed to be into psychos.

“He couldn’t have painted that, Simone. There wasn’t anybody around but Nathan.”

“Peter. You can’t possibly _believe_ him.”

Peter shrugged and pointed to a series of paintings. “What are those?”

Isaac shrugged. “Paintings for Ninth Wonders. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t remember painting them.”

“Did you remember painting that one of me?”

Isaac hesitated and shook his head.

Peter stepped forward, then hesitated. “May I?”

After a glance at Simone, Isaac shrugged.

Peter didn’t need any more encouragement than that. He hadn’t mentioned it to Simone, but Ninth Wonders was one of his favorite comic book series, and he was happy to be so close to the art used for the stories. If it hadn’t been for Simone, he would have been happy to have met the artist, too.

He stepped back and tilted his head to the side. Art for the stories. He started rearranging the paintings, putting them in a sort of sequence. “They’re like a story. Who’s the cheerleader?”

“I don’t know. Just a character, I guess.”

“Unless you’re painting the future. In which case, it’s a girl who’s going to get killed, right?”

Simone turned away, her hands on her hips. “Oh, Jesus.”

Peter was too excited to notice. “Because I know a way to tell.” He pointed to two of the paintings, the one of two Asian men looking up at a homecoming banner drenched in blood, and one of a shadowy figure standing over a cheerleader’s body, the top of her head several feet away. He tried not to focus on that part. “Homecoming. And that’s... That says Union Wells, right? So we just have to find a Union Wells high school with a homecoming and be there.”

Isaac shook his head. “That’s... That’s crazy.”

“Yes,” Simone agreed emphatically. “Yes, it is!”

Peter stepped toward Isaac, his hand out, and Isaac was reminded of Nathan Petrelli’s speeches, with one of the wannabe senator’s hands resting on the podium whenever he wanted people to see his side of an argument. “If it’s not true, then it’s crazy. But if it is, then you helped save a girl’s life. Isn’t that worth it?”

Isaac stared at the paintings. It was true that he’d felt helpless. The girl getting hit by the bus, the explosions... And if they could change this, then the painting on the floor... “Are you sure the future can be changed?”

“Why else would you be painting these things?” Peter turned back to the paintings. In one, it looked like the cheerleader was reaching out for help.

Isaac was silent for several minutes as Peter continued studying the paintings and Simone muttered about how crazy they both were. “You should probably see this, then. I just finished it.” He set his cereal aside and walked over to one of his easels, turning it around so Peter could see the picture of a man looking much like himself, his body twisted in a puddle of blood with the homecoming banner above him.

Peter swallowed. “So we know it’s Union Wells’ homecoming.”

“This. Is. _Insane_ ,” Simone repeated. She stared in horror at the painting. “Peter, you can’t go.”

Peter shrugged. “If I’m wrong, then I’ll get to see a football game. If I’m right, maybe I can save her.” He looked to Isaac as he pulled out his phone and started making arrangements to take a vacation. “Worth it, right?”

Isaac hesitated, then nodded. Being able to prevent this would definitely be worth it. He sighed and closed his eyes as the phone rang again. “Don’t answer it,” he told Simone. “It’s some Japanese guy with the wrong number. He keeps saying he’s trying to save my life or something.” He frowned and looked at the floor. “You really think I can paint the future.”

Peter stepped around him and studied the black, orange, and red mushroom cloud that had been painted on the floor, New York City’s skyline a shadow in front of it. Somehow, it frightened him more than Isaac’s painting of Peter’s body under the homecoming banner. “More than you do, I think.”

“I guess I’d better hear the guy out. He says he saw that. In the future. Says he can time travel.”

Simone shook her head. “You both realize you sound crazy, right?”

Isaac shrugged. All three of them stared at the floor in silence.

“Might not hurt to hear him out,” Peter said at last.

Simone sighed and crossed her arms, but she didn’t argue.

Isaac headed for the phone, only to have it go silent before he got there. “He’ll call again.” Hiro always did. Of course, he also left messages, too.

“I’ll see if Nathan can help.” Peter moved toward the door, as much to get away from the painting on the floor as to get moving. “Call me if anything changes.” He was gone for only a few seconds before he opened the door again. “Can I get some photos of the paintings?”

* * *

Isaac stared at his latest paintings as he wiped his hands off with a rag. One in particular drew his focus. He looked to the others he had done, the difference in light and colors. It was as if the paintings formed a series of before and after shots, just like Peter had said. And here at least, he had found the turning point.

He looked to the sketch of his own death, then back to his most recent paintings. There was no time to waste, then.

Determined, he packed up the paintings in a crate, keeping the latest on top to make sure the curator would see it. From the painting, he knew she would be wearing a pink blazer when she opened it. That ought to get her attention.

He dropped in a note telling them to follow the instructions in the paintings, then sealed the crate and addressed it to the _Deveaux Society._


	4. Collision

Daphne Millbrook sat across from Samson, her skin crawling. She wouldn’t even be here if they hadn’t caught her trying to lift the Mona Lisa. And if they thought she didn’t know Samir had been helping them to double-cross her, they were stupider than they looked. She was still amazed how so few people seemed to understand she was light years ahead of them.

“What have you found?”

She held up a video tape. “Claire Bennet and a friend have been hanging around an abandoned gravel plant and making videos.”

“Anything interesting?”

The way he was eying the video tape made her feel uncomfortable all over again, and she slowly set it on his desk and pushed it toward him. “That’s for you to decide, since you’re paying me.”

He took the tape, not taking his eyes off of it. “Did anyone see you?”

Her head tilted as she wondered just how stupid he was. “I’m too fast for that.”

“Hm.” He took the tape and tapped it thoughtfully against his desk before holding it up for her to see. “No one must ever know about this. Understood?” At her nod, he lapsed into thought again.

While she waited, Daphne glanced around the office. There were so few pictures of his son in here that it had taken her ages to find out Gabriel Gray was related to him. Word around the Company said there was something wrong with the guy, and that was why Samson didn’t put him on many cases. When Gabriel _did_ go out, there was someone willing to put him down; so far it had always been Noah Bennet. Daphne wondered what kind of guy Bennet was. She’d heard he was ruthless, but no one ever said much more about him than that, like he was the boogeyman or something. Maybe that was how he’d managed to protect his daughter for so long. And what sort of organization would let someone like Gabriel Gray run around when his own dad was willing to have him put down like an animal?

Samson’s voice startled her, though she was confident her reaction was too quick for him to catch. “All right, Daphne. I have another task for you. Hopefully one that will prove more of a challenge.”

* * *

Elle almost missed the article in the paper. The train wreck had dominated the news, with the notice of a cheerleader appearing days later. That was what caught her eye - “Hero Cheerleader.” That was what they were calling one Jackie Wilcox. They’d talked about how she’d remained anonymous but finally admitted she’d been the one to save a man from a burning building; her clothes had bloodied and burned but she had remained unscathed. She’d been downplaying that, but the cops had been perplexed. A miracle, they called it.

It made Elle hungry.

* * *

Daphne Millbrook was a thief. Or at least, she _had_ been. There was a time she had thought she’d never be able to walk again, much less run. And now, she could run over water. She was the fastest thing on two legs, and she loved it. At this millisecond, she was racing a train in New York, and she was winning. Per usual.

The thievery was a sort of victimless crime that had come about through a need to support herself. It was something she had the ability to do, and she had done it. It was actually sort of fun, most of the time. It wasn’t as if she could go home, after all. Not after the things she said to her father.

Only now, Daphne was more than a thief.

She ran in a blur up the steps – it was faster than an elevator – and stopped outside the door to the loft. She shook her head to get her hair back in its triangular shape and knocked.

The man who opened the door didn’t look like the painter junkie she’d been expecting, but she had a job to do. She slid past the guy with the glasses, and by the time he’d turned to follow the scattered dust and paper in her wake, she was already gone, several paintings tucked under her arm. She hadn’t gotten them all, but it was a start.

* * *

Samson was in a good mood; it was the only reason he was tolerating the FBI Director’s attitude. “I don’t think you understand me,” Samson said at last, interrupting. “I want Audrey Hanson back on the Sylar case.”

“I don’t know how you even _know_ about the Sylar case,” the Director complained.

Samson cut him off and kept his tone light. “I know about a lot of things. But let’s stop wasting time. I’m going to give you a number, and you’re going to call that number. You’re going to say that Samson Gray wants Audrey Hanson on this case. The person on the other end of the line is going to tell you that if Samson Gray wants it, Samson Gray gets it. Am I being clear enough for you?”

The Director sighed. “Mr. Gray, I don’t know what to tell you. But Agent Hanson had a... had some mental trouble.”

“She believes someone with superpowers has turned into a serial killer. I know. I want her on the case.”

He could hear the Director’s confused mumbling on the other end of the line.

“Call the number, Director.” He heard a familiar knock at the door and set the phone back in its cradle. “Come in.”

Daphne strode inside, her arms full of canvases. “I’m just dropping these off. I have to go back for the rest. Hey, that painter doesn’t look like he shoots up a lot. He had on a suit and everything. Even his glasses were in good shape.”

He looked over them greedily. “Horn-rimmed glasses?” he asked absently.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Noah Bennet. I wonder why he’s there… You said there are more paintings?”

Daphne did a double-take. That had been Noah Bennet at the loft? The man assigned to put down Gabriel Gray if the guy stepped out of line? She swallowed and tried to play it cool, even though inwardly she was having what she felt was a completely justified panic attack. “Yep. At least ten.”

“And you’ll get them for me, I’m sure, Daphne. Because if you didn’t, it would mean you were disloyal, and disloyal people don’t last very long here.”

Daphne swallowed again. That had sounded like a threat, and Samson was even leering at her. And why wouldn’t it be a threat? The man was willing to put down his own son.

Samson took a sip of his chilled water, and Daphne took that as a sign she was dismissed. She ran out of the building in a blur.

* * *

Daphne had nearly reached the loft again when she screeched to a halt outside one of the Petrelli election offices as a crowd spilled onto the sidewalk. Through the gaps, she could see Nathan Petrelli himself walking to his car, flanked by bodyguards. Old money. Obnoxiously wealthy money. Not that he seemed like a bad guy. A shark, sure. Everybody knew he was a shark. But who wouldn’t be tough after his mom had been sliced and diced in an alley by thugs? Rumor had it that the people responsible had never been caught. Daphne had sometimes wondered if Petrelli had found the thugs after all and taken care of it himself. His platform was about being tough on crime, after all.

She walked over, listening as he greeted well-wishers.

“You gonna vote for him?” the guy next to her asked. She glanced at him; he wasn’t much taller than she was, wearing a long tan jacket over a red sweatshirt. He flipped his dark bangs out of his face and looked at her with a half smile.

“Don’t plan on it.”

His hair fell back in his face as he turned to her in surprise. “Really? Why not?”

They were both distracted when a man with olive skin and thick black curls called Nathan Petrelli’s name, asking if Nathan had noticed anything unusual lately, if he had been able to do anything most people couldn’t. He tried to push past Nathan’s bodyguards, who shoved him away.

“I don’t really plan on staying in the country much longer,” Daphne said thoughtfully. She was a little surprised to realize she was truly considering it. After all, she could outrun the Company – she could outrun anything. And she was tired of that pit of fear in her stomach whenever she met with Samson or the other Company founders. And she was definitely tired of being the Company’s lapdog.

But the guy wasn’t paying attention to her any longer. He put a gentle hand on her back as he moved past her. “Excuse me.” He headed toward the man and picked up the book that had fallen to the pavement. “‘Activating Evolution?’ This is that book about people evolving, with superpowers and stuff, right? You’ve read this?”

Daphne rolled her eyes as they shook hands. If only they knew.

Without a glance behind her, she set off for Europe.

* * *

Samson eyed the paintings as he waited for the others to arrive. Daphne was taking too long, and something had either gone wrong, or she had abandoned him. He expected it was the latter.

Not that it mattered. The paintings she’d delivered told him what he wanted to know. Immortality and another collector of powers such as himself, all gathered in one place. He chuckled as he considered how helpful the universe was being. First having to go to that camp with the others, then the Company… Angela had seen it coming, of course, but he was confident he’d stopped her before she’d had a chance to warn the others. He hadn’t been able to take her abilities without it looking suspicious, but her sister’s ability…

The only problem he could see was that he would have to go to Odessa, Texas. For this many powers, though, he’d do his best to stomach it. With his cancer progressing, he was willing to be inconvenienced to find a cure. He hadn’t become this powerful just to die.

He sat at his desk and logged back into his computer. Time to find out about the Wildcats homecoming.


	5. Hiros

They probably sounded insane, Mohinder thought ruefully. And yet, just like back home, everyone politely pretended to ignore the crazies talking about superpowers and stoutly refused to make eye contact. They couldn’t be afraid that Mohinder or Peter would attack them in a fit of insanity. Or maybe they did. He sighed. It was hard to tell what people were thinking sometimes.

Though not with Peter. Judging by Peter’s earnest enthusiasm, even talking about something so silly as abilities, Mohinder found it hard to believe the young man could hide or lie about anything. After Nathan's lack of enthusiasm, Mohinder couldn't help but wonder at Peter's continued interest. Peter had called to excuse himself from their meeting the next day, something about a last-minute trip. Mohinder had offered to buy them both tea when Peter returned, only to have Peter call back and say he had some free time. Something about a meeting with his brother not going as planned. Whatever discontent Peter may have felt was covered by his excitement in telling Mohinder about a new ability Peter had seen, and how Mohinder really had to meet a man named Isaac Mendez.

So he was more than a little surprised when Peter suddenly changed the subject, grabbing his arm and telling him about a man who had just been there, how Mohinder had been frozen in time, and something about “Save the cheerleader, save the world.”

* * *

“Peter, how many times have I told you? You can’t-” Nathan drew closer and lowered his voice so the bodyguards outside the closed door couldn’t hear. “You can’t fly. That guy you helped your girlfriend with can’t paint the future. Super powers don’t exist.”

“Mohinder says he can figure out what’s happening to me.”

“Mohinder. That Indian guy? The one that attacked me earlier?”

Peter nodded, then quickly shook his head to get his bangs out of his face. “He didn’t attack you. He works with a company that-”

Nathan’s blood ran cold. “No. Absolutely not. You are to have nothing else to do with that guy, Pete. He’s a nut. And no more jumping off rooftops, either.” He stuck his finger in Peter’s face, grasping his brother’s shoulder with his other hand. “You hear me? I’m serious, Pete.”

Peter hesitated, and Nathan could almost see the wheels turning in his little brother’s head. Peter’s shoulders fell in defeat. “Promise,” he mumbled.

Nathan slapped him on the shoulder. A promise from Peter, no matter how unenthusiastic, might as well be set in stone. “Great. Good man, Pete.” He spun and headed for his desk. What he needed was a way to keep Peter busy, somewhere Nathan could keep an eye on him. Nathan had vowed to always watch over his little brother; watching Peter jump off that roof had been one of the worst moments in his life. He glanced absently at his calendar. “Now. What are your plans for the weekend? I won’t lie, Pete. I could really use you here.” A complete lie, but he could always come up with something for Peter to do. “It’d mean a lot for me to look like a family man right now.”

He took up his pen to start signing campaign letters for some of his bigger contributors. He glanced up when Peter’s response lagged.

“Actually,” Peter began, and Nathan’s eyes flashed. Other people might think Peter’s tone meant he had only just thought of something, but Nathan knew his brother well enough to catch how off Peter’s voice was. It didn’t reassure him that Peter wouldn’t look him in the eye, instead staring at Nathan’s desk. “I was thinking of taking a vacation.”

“A vacation,” Nathan repeated flatly. “Pete, it’s an election year. I’m behind in the polls-”

“You can tell the press I wanted time away,” Peter said quickly. “Time out of the spotlight to regroup. Tell them I’m visiting with my grief therapist in Las Vegas.” Grief therapist. Right. He and Nathan both knew that it was just another woman he was cheating on Heidi with. “Or whatever she is.”

Nathan’s hand stilled. “Niki. She’s a good woman, Peter.”

“Great. Does she have a family that can be ruined by all this, too?”

Nathan slammed the pen back on the desk. “Pete-”

“Forget it, Nathan. I’m taking a vacation.”

“Oh yeah? Where?” Seeing that Peter was on his way out, he played the guilt card, by far the most effective card he had. “I promised Ma I’d look after you.” He paused, and when he next spoke, he kept his voice resigned, as if he were making a monumental concession to his baby brother. “Just in case there’s an emergency and I have to reach you. I’d still worry if I didn’t hear from you, Pete. Heidi would, too. And the kids.”

Peter paused. “I’m going to Texas. Call me if something comes up.”

“Texas?” Nathan put his hands on his hips. “What the hell’s in Texas, Pete?” He only knew one person in Texas, one reason to be there. And Peter didn’t know about Meredith.

“I’ve got to save- Look, I’ve got to go. You want to know more, talk to Simone.”

“Si-” But Peter was already gone. “Why the hell would I talk to Simone?” Nathan muttered to himself. Nonetheless, he hit the intercom button and called for his driver.

* * *

Elle looked more closely at the redheaded woman as she used Frank’s ability. She’d overheard the waitress’s conversation with the wannabe cops. What if… “You’ve got a great memory,” she said, lips spreading into a smile as she saw the woman’s ability. She’d never expected to find someone with an ability in this dump. The hometown sheriff and goofy deputy, sure, even the four-eyed businessman getting hit on by a blonde. The Japanese tourists were out of left field, but so long as they didn’t try to take pictures of everything, Elle could deal with them.

“Yeah, it’s just somethin’ that started recently.”

Elle grinned. “It’s impressive.” But then, so was the size of that aneurysm in the girl’s head. She handed over her menu. “You talked me into the pancakes.”

The waitress, Charlie, smiled brightly and turned.

“Oh!” Elle exclaimed quickly. “Where are the bathrooms?” She grinned, abashed, and pointed to her eyes. “I’m near-sighted. Forgot my contacts.”

“Oh. Right over there by the kitchen.” Charlie pointed, and Elle squinted in that direction. Charlie grinned and beckoned Elle with a hand. “C’mon and follow me. I’m headed that way anyway.”

“Thanks.” Elle followed her and passed her into the bathroom, waiting thirty seconds before walking back out and ducking into the kitchen. She checked to make sure she was alone and held up her fingers to slice.

* * *

Two hours later, Elle was pulling up to a light around the corner from the diner, and her mood had gone from bad to worse. If it weren’t for that Japanese guy getting in the way, she’d have enhanced memory by now. It wasn’t a flashy ability, but it could have been useful. The girl had been going to die anyway. And what had she gotten instead? A bunch of meaningless crap about how she was going to die powerful and alone and no one was going to mourn her. As if she would ever die. Once she got the cheerleader, such concerns would be a thing of the past.

She should have just killed the dork. She’d manage time travel better than he did. But no, every time she’d tried, he’d just… moved. He’d even laughed at her. She _hated_ him.

But this was the last straw. She could understand mugging people who deserved it, but those two had chosen the wrong victim. Elle stuck her hand out her car window and blasted one of the two men outside of the diner with electricity until he let Charlie go. She strode over, leaving the car parked at the red light.

“I _just_ saved her life,” she snapped. “And I’m not even happy about it. So if you’re going to kill her, you need my say-so.” She hadn’t gone through all that work and bitching at that Japanese dork to have it come to nothing. They messed with Charlie now, they messed with Elle. And Elle was _pissed._

The other man, with dirty nails and a goatee and the clothes that suggested he’d just escaped from some sort of carnie disco, lifted his hands in an appeasing gesture.

“Don’t even.” She flung him and the other man down the alley and glanced at the wide-eyed Charlie. “Don’t you think you’d better run? Idiot.”

Elle watched her move away, slowly at first before breaking into a run. She turned back to the two men. Neither seemed much of a threat, and a glance behind her told her the light was about to turn green. With a sniff, she got back in the car and drove toward Odessa. She watched in the rearview mirror as the younger man, the one with the goatee and nail fungus, stumbled to the sidewalk and picked something up. She wouldn’t be surprised if it was one of Charlie’s stray hairs or something.

Elle shook her head. “Pervert.” People really did disgust her sometimes.

* * *

Charlie peeked around the corner, watching as Elle drove away. She frowned, trying to work the woman out. Hiro had said she was a killer, and Charlie believed him. Elle had only cured Charlie because Hiro had struck some sort of deal, but why hadn’t Elle killed her just now? Or those other two men? She could have, and easily.

She took a deep breath and walked back to the diner, going around the back and watching carefully in case those men were still around. Hiro wasn’t in the dining area, and Charlie looked out the window before stepping outside.

“Lynette? Do you know where Hiro got to?”

“He was just here a second ago, honey. I’m sure he’ll be along before long. No man in his right mind would leave you waiting.”

Charlie managed a weak grin, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. What did it take for a time traveler to stand someone up?

* * *

Peter waited until he was through security at the airport to call Isaac, telling him about his conversation with Hiro on the subway. “He said his name was Hiro Nakamura. And ‘save the cheerleader, save the world.’”

“He said his name was Hiro Nakamura?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the name of the guy who’s been calling me.”

“Are you serious?” Peter hurried to get in line, his ticket in hand. “Does- does he know what to do?”

“Yeah. He bought a comic book in the future. He said he’s on his way to save the cheerleader.”

Peter grinned. “You wrote about this in a comic book?”

“Yeah, well. That was apparently the last issue.” They were both quiet as the intercom announced the final boarding call. “I’ll tell him to meet up with you, okay?”

“At the high school. I’ll watch for an out-of-place Japanese guy who can stop time.”

“And teleport.”

“Seriously?”

“I couldn’t make this stuff up,” Isaac said wryly. “I’ll let him know. And Peter… Good luck.”

“Yeah. You, too.” He hung up and handed his ticket to one of the attendants.


	6. Better Halves

There was one count on which Gabriel admired his father. He’d never seen a better actor than Samson, and he doubted one existed. The two had dinner together once a week; it was an old tradition they’d been doing since Gabriel was a boy, though he couldn’t remember how it had started. It was the only time of the week when, surrounded by witnesses, his father would be kind to him. Attentive, even encouraging at times. Especially when Gabriel was talking about his work as an agent.

For all Samson’s acting ability, though, something terrible must have happened for him to be so nervous even Gabriel could tell something was wrong. “So what’s really upsetting you?”

“I’m not upset, Gabriel.” Samson stopped shaking his foot and appeared just as calm as ever. “Why would you say something like that?”

So that was how they were playing it. “No reason.” Gabriel looked down at his tray and stuffed three fries in his mouth at once.

“Don’t eat like that, son. People will think you’re a pig.”

“Yes, sir.” Gabriel clenched his jaw, wondering what was really going on. He’d heard Daphne Millbrook had gone MIA after making some sort of delivery, but Samson wasn’t the sort to care what happened to his own family, least of all what happened to his workers.

“I’ll be out of town for the next couple days.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. Maybe his dad was searching for Millbrook after all? He waited for his father to continue. When nothing was forthcoming, he asked, “Why? You almost never take vacations.”

“It’s business. Maybe I’ll bring you back something.”

Gabriel nodded. “That’d be nice.”

Samson grinned with the smugness of someone who had just won the Father of the Year award.

“Where are you going?”

“L.A.”

Los Angeles. Not Europe, then. Millbrook usually headed there when she could. He frowned at something over Samson’s shoulder. “Dad. It looks like Bennet wants to talk to you.”

“Oh?” Samson turned and looked over his shoulder.

“He just looked in, saw you, and went back out. You have a meeting or something?”  
“No.” Samson frowned and stood, dusting off his suit even though there was no need. “I’ll be right back.”

Gabriel nodded and waited until Samson was gone to check his dad’s phone. Three minutes later, he had a seat on the same flight. He was willing to bet Millbrook’s disappearance and his dad’s lying were connected.

Gabriel replaced the phone and paused, his heart hammering. It had felt for a second there as if he were being watched, but he couldn’t see anyone in the cafeteria who seemed interested in him.

He jumped as Samson slid back into his vacated seat. “I didn’t see him. Are you sure you saw him?”

Gabriel frowned and shrugged. “Weird. Guess I imagined it.”

* * *

“Any more paintings like this?” Nathan studied the painting he had just covered with black paint, seeing if he had missed anything.

“What, you want to ruin those, too?”

Nathan clenched his teeth as he looked at Simone. “I’m not going to let my brother die, Simone.” He dug out his wallet and pulled out a wad of bills. He looked down at her until he was sure he had her attention. “I want every single painting Isaac Mendez has ever done featuring my brother, Simone, and I want them by the end of this week.”

“You’ll just destroy them!” she argued.

“So that my brother can live,” Nathan snapped back. He shoved the bills at her and turned back toward the painting, hands on his hips. “I’m buying them. It shouldn’t matter to you what I do with them after.” His eyes fell on her portfolio. “Are there any in there?”

Simone shook her head. “Those are other artists’ paintings for the Deveaux Society.” She considered taking the money and slapping Nathan in the face with it, but in the end, she slipped it into her pocket. No telling when Isaac would need rehab again, and good treatment wasn’t cheap.

Just because she’d accepted his money didn’t mean she was going to show him the rest of the art for the Society. She’d lied when she’d said they were from other artists; they were all done by Isaac. A couple had featured Peter, but she was hardly going to tell him that and let him destroy them. “So what are you going to do now?”

Nathan studied the painting again. He couldn’t tell if Peter’s mangled body was still visible or if it was just his imagination. “I’m going to Texas.”

* * *

Noah was glad for an excuse to ground Claire. He had quickly hidden his pride over Claire punching Jackie and sent her to her room, the homecoming game be damned. Isaac’s paintings had more than convinced him to keep Claire close.

He knocked on the door to her room, frowning as the silence stretched. “Claire?” Still nothing. He called again and waited.

After several moments, he bent and picked the lock. If Claire was still there and got pissed with him, he’d take it. But if she wasn’t there…

He took in the open closet and the open window, and then spun around to run downstairs. “I’m going out!” He was already dialing Eden as he shoved the key into the ignition.


	7. Homecoming

The first thing Elle noticed as she stepped out of her rental car was the noise; she could see the stadium lights behind the high school, but even from this distance, the drums from the band made the ground shake, and the blaring brass set her teeth on edge. She could barely hear the beep of her car locking. She grimaced to herself and told herself that if nothing else, the noise would cover the sound of a screaming cheerleader.

She fell in with a group of people dressed in gold and maroon as they headed through the gates, stopping at a table to purchase her ticket. She took a dollar from her back pocket, duplicated it, and put the original back in her pocket as if she had taken out too much money. How had she ever lived before stealing people’s abilities?

“Are you a Union Wells alumnus?” one of the women at the table asked.

Elle smiled brightly and pumped her fist in the air. “Go, Wildcats!”

Moments later, she was armed with a gold and scarlet ribbon proclaiming her to be an alumnus. Elle marveled at the abject stupidity of common people and made her way to the football field in good spirits. Get Jackie Wilcox alone, kill her, and then live forever.

She found a seat in the stands and idly watched the football players maul one another for people’s entertainment. As far as she could see, the only value football held was watching men run around in tight pants, which made her question what everyone around her was really cheering for. Didn’t they know most of these kids were underage, if not all of them?

She pulled out a photo she’d gotten of Jackie from the internet and studied the cheerleaders. Where was she?

“Oh. She’s not out yet.”

Elle looked in surprise at the boy behind her, his mop of red hair falling in his eyes. “What?”

“Jackie.” He pointed at the picture in her hand. “The ‘Hero Cheerleader,’ right? Yeah, she’s still getting ready. She’s kind of a prima donna.”

“Really?” Elle pressed, always happy to listen to gossip. “I thought she’d be better, since, you know, she’s a hero and all.”

The boy shrugged. “She’s full of hot air. You ask me? Real heroes don’t try to get as much attention as she gets.”

Elle shifted in her seat to get a better look at him. “Aren’t you kind of young to think about things like that?” And worse, have a point? That had never occurred to her, how someone with the ability to survive being burned alive might not want anyone to know. She felt rather stupid now. But then, Elle hadn’t announced her abilities to the world, either. Just using them to get more abilities…

He frowned and lifted his chin. “I’m a freshman, not a middle-schooler.”

Oh, that explained it, Elle thought sarcastically. Teenagers always knew so much more than everyone else.

She set her hand on his knee. “Got a name, freshman?”

He stared down at her hand on his knee but didn’t pull away. “Lyle.”

Elle smiled. “Well, Lyle. Thanks for giving me something to think about.” She stood and pocketed the photo.

“You’re leaving? It’s only the second quarter. There’s going to be a halftime show.” He shrugged and tried to look cooler and more mature than his years would allow. “I mean, what Union Wells _calls_ a halftime show.”

Her smile grew. “I wouldn’t miss it. But first I’ve got to see to something. Be right back.” He nodded, and she headed down the stairs. If Jackie Wilcox couldn’t actually heal, why would she lie? Or was this whole thing a dud?

Or was Jackie Wilcox just covering for someone else?

Elle reached the path that wound around the football field and looked around. Where would a lying, cheating cheerleader hide?

She saw a couple girls emerge from what looked like a gym building and grinned to herself. She’d come to Nowheresville, Texas looking for a new superpower. She wasn’t leaving until she got it.

On the way, she smiled as she passed a man in a beige trenchcoat who didn’t seem to realize he was wearing a trenchcoat at a football game. He was cute, but she could have improved his looks with a haircut. Pity there were more important things to take care of. Maybe she’d meet up with him later and flirt a little.

* * *

Peter headed to the stands, his eyes scanning the crowd for the cheerleader from Isaac’s paintings. Blond cheerleader with green eyes, blond cheerleader with green eyes… Most of these girls looked like they had blond hair, but their faces weren’t round enough. Nearly all of them had their hair up in ponytails, too, whereas the girl in Isaac’s paintings had her hair down in loose curls.

He frowned to himself. This would be easier if Hiro had met him here like they’d agreed. Peter had thought Hiro was as idealistic as he was himself, that Hiro would definitely show up. He’d seemed so enthusiastic over the phone, and Hiro’s future self had seemed so determined.

Or maybe Hiro’s future self was determined because Hiro, and maybe Peter, too, had failed to save the cheerleader the first time around?

Peter bit his lip. Never mind that for now. The important thing was to find the cheerleader and keep her safe. Save the cheerleader, save the world. Sure, it sounded cheesy, but at least he knew what he had to do.

And if he could survive the night, so much the better.

The cheerleader was obviously nowhere on the football field, and Peter leaned against the fence as he dug out pictures of Isaac’s paintings. He’d already studied them to death on the plane, but he wasn’t sure what else to do. Maybe he had missed something.

Peter was too busy flipping through the pictures to notice the woman beside him glance at the photos. She froze and slowly looked up at him with an appalled expression. She followed his eyes as he looked at the cheerleaders, studying each one, and cleared her throat angrily.

His eyes widened, and he slipped the photos back into his pocket. He forced a smile as he tried to explain. Realizing that there was no way to explain this, and that he must look like a sexual predator or something, he settled on, “Sorry. It’s- It’s not what you think.”

Keeping her steely-eyed gaze on him, she drew out her cell phone and very slowly punched in three numbers before holding the phone up to her ear.

“Sorry,” Peter repeated, holding up his hands in surrender as he walked backward. She was still on the phone when he entered a crowd of people and lost sight of her.

Okay, so the football field was probably a no-go. He’d have to look elsewhere.

He waited until he was farther away this time before looking again at the pictures before mentally kicking himself. All of the paintings save the one of him looked like they took place in one of the school buildings.

Looking around to see if the woman was about to sic anyone on him, he headed toward a door in one of the buildings.

* * *

Jackie glared at the woman in front of her. The blonde looked young enough and short enough to still be in high school, and if this was a trick by those losers they were playing tonight to mess with the cheerleading squad, she’d march out there and punch each of the visiting cheerleaders in the face. “Excuse me?”

“No, really. I think it’s adorable how you think you’re special. There’s really nothing up there, is there?” She tapped Jackie’s forehead and smiled. “But we both know you’re not special, Jackie. So who are you covering for?”

Jackie frowned at her. Okay. Maybe not from the other school. Maybe a reporter who was trying to expose her? As if she’d even done anything wrong. All the cheerleaders had been under suspicion for breaking into a crime scene or whatever. Jackie had just taken the hit for the person. And if they’d really cared, they would have come forward themselves. “Who are you?”

The woman smiled. “Elle Bishop.”

Jackie didn’t pretend to look impressed. “I mean, who are you with? What network? Magazine?”

The woman – Elle, if that was her real name, but she’d heard reporters worked undercover sometimes – looked offended. “Just tell me who actually saved that man’s life and I’ll go, okay?”

Jackie forced a laugh. “I saved him!”

“Wow. You lie almost as well as you fit into that outfit.”

The forced laugh cut off. “Meaning?”

“What do you think I mean? I see the thickness isn’t all in your legs.”

“You fu-”

Both of them whipped their heads toward the door as another cheerleader entered. This one was shorter than Jackie, with her hair falling in long curls. “Jackie. Hey. Can I talk to you?”

“Sorry,” Elle said quietly. “I shouldn’t have called you thick. Can’t really call you that after seeing _her_.”

Jackie shoved past Elle. “C’mon, Claire. Let’s talk outside.” Though she wanted to focus on getting back at Claire for punching her earlier, she wanted to get away from this bitch more. Something about Elle’s smile bothered her. It wasn’t right that the woman should look so comfortable and… what?

The next thing Jackie knew, air was rushing past her face. She barely had time to see the wall before she hit it and fell to the ground, fiery pain running through her body. She gasped for breath, whimpering at how much the effort hurt her. She tried to push herself up but couldn’t move.

She closed her eyes. She could feel panic welling up within her. Jackie was going to end up like that Superman guy or the wife of that guy running for office in New York, she just knew it. How did they even have sex?

Tears clouded her vision, and she blinked them away as a shadow fell across her. “Hello?” she whispered. She could barely make out a pair of black shoes, and black slacks...

“You really aren’t special, are you?”

A whine started deep in her throat, moving gradually higher. She felt something on her head, as if he were stroking her hair, and before she could scream or cuss him out, everything went dark.

* * *

“What are you _doing?_ ” Claire stared at the woman standing across from her, her hand lifted, fingers splayed apart, almost as if Claire were a puppet on strings, stuck tight against the wall.

“I’m standing far enough away that I don’t get your blood on me. That’s the worst part about killing people, you know. The bloodstains.”

“You- You can’t kill me,” Claire stammered. The woman couldn’t seriously mean to kill her, could she? Claire didn’t even understand why it upset her so much – it wasn’t as if she hadn’t killed herself before. But she’d always been the one in control, and now she was a foot off the ground, her back pressed against the wall, and unable to move.

“Maybe I can. I don’t know. Though it would be fun to try.” The woman moved closer, concentrating on Claire’s forehead as if she could see through it. Suddenly she smiled and fell back again. “This might sting a little.”

Claire felt something on her forehead, almost like a fingernail poking her above her left eye. Before she had time to think about what was happening, the feeling exploded into a burst of pain, a shard of glass tearing apart her skin, scraping through her bone. She heard herself scream, but it barely registered through the pain.

And then the pain faded, slowly at first and then faster as her body hurried to heal itself. She was vaguely aware of a man in a black coat asking if she were all right and telling her that she had a- “What?”

“I said you have a remarkable gift, young lady.” He smiled, and Claire’s heart sank as he pointed a finger at her skull.

* * *

Peter spun as he heard a scream, running in the direction of the sound. “HELLO?” he shouted. Was he too late? He came to a T-section and looked both ways. “ _HELLO?_ ” He shook his bangs out of his way and turned around. What if he had heard the echoes wrong and had run in the wrong direction?

Wait. What had that been?

He turned to look down a hallway. Was that a voice? It sounded almost like- That was someone crying, right? Not just the wind playing tricks on him. He heard it again and ran toward the sound, slowing down when he saw the crumpled body. Somewhere in his mind, he noticed that the girl was wearing a cheerleading uniform. He dropped to his knees beside her, gently running his hands over her neck and shoulder, not daring to move her after seeing the angle of her neck. She had a ponytail. That wasn’t right. Not the cheerleader he was looking for, then. What the hell was going on? How many cheerleaders were in danger at this school? “Hey, it’s okay. I’m a nurse. I’m here to help you. You’re going to be fine, I just need you to stay calm for me, okay?”

The girl sniffled. “Help me.”

“I will. Can you tell me what happened?”

She took a shuddering breath. “Claire...”

“Hi, Claire. I’m Peter.”

The girl closed her eyes. “No!” Her voice was quiet and broke even on that little word, but her exasperation was plain as she shakily managed to point at the locker room door. “Claire!”

Peter twisted to look over his shoulder, realization dawning. “Don’t worry. I’ll save her.”

He pushed himself to his feet, his eyes focused on the door. Now that he thought about it, this was incredibly stupid. Hiro could stop time, but what could Peter do? He could paint the future, sometimes he could fly. Almost. Or at least, so he thought. And now he was going up against a super-powered murderer with... nothing. Nothing but the knowledge that he had to save the cheerleader, or terrible things would happen in the future.

His heart pounding, Peter threw himself at the door, spotting a blond girl – woman? - crumpled on the floor in front of him, splattered with blood.

Something flew at him, and he barely got his hand in front of his face before the trash can hit him. He shoved it away and stared wide-eyed at the two men who were standing in the ruins of some lockers. Twisted metal was scattered around them, some of it floating in the air.

“Run!” One of the men shouted. He was tall, wearing khakis, a plaid shirt, and thick glasses. The man with his back to Peter was only slightly taller than Peter himself, wearing a large black coat and a black fedora.

There was a blur of movement to his right, and Peter barely caught the girl in the cheerleading uniform before she staggered into him. He steadied her by the arms, his instincts as a nurse taking over as he checked her for injuries. She was bloody, but he couldn’t see the wounds. “You okay?”

She raised her head, and his heart skipped a beat. Blonde hair down in curls, frightened green eyes... She looked exactly like the girl from Isaac’s painting. Claire. This was Claire, wasn’t it?

Something shoved them toward the door, and he gasped as he saw a stream of blue fire nearly hit his face.

“RUN!” the man repeated, throwing a chunk of twisted metal at the man in black.

Peter grabbed the girl’s arm, clumsily throwing open the door and shoving her out into the hall. He staggered after her, slipping a bit in a small pool of blood.

She yelled and fell to her knees beside the girl on the floor. “Jackie!”

“Don’t!” He pushed her arms down before she could touch Jackie. “Her neck’s hurt. If you move her, you might paralyze her, okay? We need to get help. We need to get you safe!”

“But what about her?”

“And you can’t help her if you’re dead, too. Come on!” He grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hall. Where could they go that was safe?

* * *

Elle stirred, wondering why it smelled like hell. And felt like hell. Or was that just her?

“I can’t let you do it!” That voice, familiar...

“Stand down, son. You might think you’re ready to go up against your old man, but-” There was a burst of bright light, and Elle closed her eyes tightly, holding a hand over her eyes. “There are still some things you need to learn.”

She rolled over. Right. The... What did they call those places? Locker rooms? In freaking Texas. She’d been after that cheerleader, and this man had come in and hurt her... Elle frowned. She took that personally...

There was a shout, and she watched several objects fall. She felt loose, absent, as if she were watching a movie. And then she saw Gabriel on the ground, clutching his stomach. For one brief moment, their eyes met, and she knew instantly that he’d lied to her. He’d had an ability all along. He’d only been after her for her ability. Just like Frank…

“Oh, look who’s up.”

The man’s face was lost in shadow, but a lack of light had never been much of an issue for her. Without a word, she flicked her wrist, the blast of lightning sending the man flying off his feet. Her TK sent twisted pieces of metal after him, speeding for his heart. How dare they? How many more people were going to treat her like a thing? How many of them were going to use her?

“NO!”

She turned to face Gabriel, a ball of lightning growing in her hands. “What? But Gabriel, I thought you liked me so much you’d let me do anything!”

“He’s my father,” he grated. He lifted a finger, and Elle nearly shocked him until he met her eyes again. The man shook on the ground, twisting as if he couldn’t breathe. Once his eyes shut, his body went still, and Gabriel lowered his hand. “I couldn’t let him kill her.”

“The cheerleader?”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’ve been killing people, Elle. You’re too-”

“Too what? Too cute? I _hate_ that.”

“Too perfect,” he said, more quietly. He shoved himself to his feet, but she could see the way he weaved from side to side, unsure of his balance.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know you’re not a killer, Elle.”

She smirked, even though it was forced. “C’mon, Gabriel Gabriel Gray. Didn’t you get the memo?” Behind him, part of a wooden bench rose in the air. “I’m the killer of the year.”

“I don’t beli-”

She watched him fall and tossed the bench back against the wall. He looked almost cute like that. Somehow, he had a greater air of competence when he was unconscious.

Using Frank’s ability, she peered into their skulls to see what they had, frowning when she got to the old man. No immortality, but it seemed he’d been taking many of the abilities she had passed up. “I’ll be talking to you later, you bastard.”

But for right now, she had a cheerleader to find.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Peter to get lost as Claire led him through the corridors. “I’m sorry I made you leave your friend.”

“No, I get it. She can’t move. Even if I cut myself, I’d heal before I could give her any of my blood.” She scoffed at herself, glancing into the shadows in justified paranoia. “I don’t even know if that would work.”

“I thought she was the one who saved that fireman.”

She shook her head. “No. But she likes attention. I thought it best to let her have it, you know?”

He nodded. “I think that’s admirable.”

She looked at him with a hint of a smile. A sad smile, he thought. “Really? I mean, it wasn’t like- I just don’t want to be any more of a freak than I already-”

Peter held a hand up, tilting his head. What had that been? A building noise, or something else?

“You know, when running from the person who’s determined to kill you, it’s usually a good idea not to leave a blood trail.”

They looked at one another, then behind them, where vague bloody shoeprints disappeared around the corner. Standing over the trail was- What the hell? Was that the woman from earlier? He’d thought she’d just been another victim!

“Who-”

“Run!” Claire grabbed his hand and staggered as a bolt of lightning hit her in the back.

“I don’t think so,” the woman continued, walking forward. “You think I want to run in heels?”

Peter pulled Claire behind a flight of stairs and led the way up. If they ran fast enough, the woman below wouldn’t be able to see what direction they went in at the top of the stairs; it was their one chance to escape. And if heading upstairs meant they were that much closer to making Isaac’s vision of the future a reality, then maybe Peter would at least be able to get Claire out safely. “Who the hell is that?”

Once they got to the top of the stairs, she pulled him down another hall. Peter got a glimpse of the football stadium lights through a window, but it did little to tell him where they were. “She was trying to kill me.”

“I thought the guy was trying to-”

“He was trying to kill me, too.”

“Is _everybody_ trying to kill you?”

She glanced at him as they ran. There was another one of those sad smiles. “Not everyone.”

He flashed her a grin. She meant him. He was helping her. Maybe he could be a hero after-

He shouted as he left the ground. For a second, he thought he was flying, but he couldn’t move his arms or legs. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw the girl suspended in the air beside him.

“You _guys_ ,” the woman whined. “It’s no fun when you run so much. And you stained my clothes, you little bitch.”

“Good!”

The woman tsked and turned them around to face her. Now that Peter could see her properly, he was surprised at how small and... clean she was. Beneath the blood, her clothes were new, her nails manicured... Part of her hair was matted in blood where she had lain in it.

He met her eyes and saw she’d been studying him, too. She smiled.

“I’ll get to you in a minute. I can’t put a finger on what yours does, but I will.” She turned to Claire and held up her other hand, and Peter watched out of the corner of his eye as Claire’s forehead was slowly ripped open.

“NO!” Peter yelled, struggling as Claire screamed. “NO! LEAVE HER ALONE!” He strained against the telekinesis as her blood fell to the floor. She was whimpering now, and Peter’s sense of helplessness and anger grew.

He screamed again, wordless and desperate. Blue flames burst to life in his hands, craning for the woman, and she jumped back with a shout.

Peter and Claire fell to the floor. He hurried over to her, one hand still glowing blue. He didn’t understand how he was doing it, but he would take whatever he could get to keep the woman away. He could see her through the flame, watching him for some sign of weakness, and he threw a ball of fire at her like he’d seen the men in the locker room do.

He moved closer to Claire. At first, he thought she was dead. But after a moment, she gasped and floundered as she sat up. She looked around, staring at him with wide, frightened eyes before looking at the blood on the floor around her. He watched in awe as the gash on her forehead started to stitch itself back together. Before long, the only sign it had been there at all was a blood stain. “You can heal?”

“MINE!” The woman leapt forward, and Peter felt the now-familiar tug of telekinesis and waved his fiery hand in front of her face. He glanced around, seeing the window behind them.

Okay. If that was the way it had to be.

“C’mon.” He helped Claire to her feet before running to the window. He killed the flames and grabbed a desk. “You trust me?”

She shifted her weight from foot to foot and looked back to the woman, who was walking toward them again, wary, holding balls of lightning. “Hurry.”

Peter was already banging the desk against the window. There was a crack. Another hit, five more. “She won’t kill you around people, okay? So after this, run to the field.” He shouted as he hit the window again and saw the woman lift a hand out of the corner of his eye. He turned and threw the desk as hard as he could, not pausing as he grabbed Claire’s arm and threw himself against the glass. For a second, he thought it wouldn’t give, and he felt like a moron. Then it suddenly gave, and he was falling, the cement rising up to meet him. Isaac’s vision of the future was going to come true after all.

He wrapped his arms around Claire, hoping he’d break the impact enough she could run without waiting to heal. At least she’d make it out alive.

* * *

The last thing Peter remembered, there was a sickening crunch he’d instantly known were his bones breaking. He didn’t feel anything at the time, but now that someone was hitting him, his whole body felt like it was on fire. He groaned and coughed, tasting blood. He rolled over to spit it out.

“Hey! You okay? You’re- You just jumped out of a building!”

He pushed himself up with an arm and pulled back his bangs to look at her. Claire. The cheerleader. The cheerleader he had just saved. “I’m alive?”

“You’re crazy!” She shoved him in the chest, and Peter was surprised that it didn’t hurt more. “I thought you were going to die!”

“I- I thought I was, too.” He looked at his hand as the broken bones slid back into place.

“You really thought you were going to die?” She moved to block him from sight as some high school kids ran over, glaring at them until they stopped several yards away. Not that they had much choice; it looked like glass had exploded all over the place. They were probably looking after their shoes.

Peter wiggled his fingers. “Yeah. Didn’t you?” He flashed her a grin and held out his hand. “Peter.”

“Claire.” Her head popped up as they heard sirens, and she scowled. “About time they got here.”

* * *

Elle heard the sirens and kept her head down. She replayed the situation in her head over and over again. More telekinesis, more lightning, more _something_. But in the end, she’d been afraid she’d be spotted by people on the street. Just three more minutes. No, just _one_ more minute, and she could be immortal right now. If she hadn’t stopped to watch how the regeneration worked...

Ugh. She had to stop thinking about what-ifs. She’d go back to her hotel, get cleaned up, and work out another way to get to that girl. Find out her name, for starters.

“Hi.”

Elle drew up sharply, nearly running over a short woman with the dark pixie cut. “Excuse you,” she snapped.

The woman just smiled. “Aren’t you feeling sleepy? You are, aren’t you. Very, very sleepy.”

Elle tried to fight off a yawn. “What-”

“Just close your eyes and go to sleep. We’ll take care of you.”

* * *

Noah opened the doors of their van, stepping out and easily picking up the woman covered in his daughter’s blood. He tossed her in the back and injected her with a sedative strong enough to keep her out until they reached the Company. “Good job.”

“Thanks.” Eden hesitated. “I thought it would be harder.”

“She likely didn’t think you were a threat.” He turned the woman’s face and looked at her wordlessly. Elle Bishop. He remembered having Gabriel question her months ago. How had they missed this? How had _Noah_ missed this?

He turned to Rene and gave him a nod. Rene nodded back and headed off into the crowd. By morning, no one but the three of them would remember what had happened. And Elle Bishop, of course, but since she’d never see the light of day again, she didn’t count.

* * *

When Gabriel came to, he was alone. He pushed himself to his feet, wondering who had hit him from behind. Had it been his father? Elle?

He groaned and clutched his head as he heard sirens outside, the pain receding as he realized what it meant. He had to get out of here, or else everyone at the Company would think he’d tried to kill Claire. Noah would murder him.

He opened the door to find himself face to face with Rene. He froze. Through the years, he had learned to be wary of Rene. None of his abilities ever seemed to work around the man, and whenever he couldn’t remember something, he had to wonder...

Rene stared him down, unmoving. “The girl?”

“Claire? I think she’s safe. Dad got knocked out, and a guy came and helped Claire get away.” He licked his lips. “And there was a woman. Elle Bishop.”

“We have her.” Rene was silent, and Gabriel glanced in the direction of the sirens. How much time did he have? “I will take care of your father. Go.” He moved to the side, his face still immobile.

Gabriel didn’t stop to ask questions. He had to get back home without the Company being the wiser. He had to find a way to stop his father.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Gilded Genesis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/365026) by [therisingmoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therisingmoon/pseuds/therisingmoon)




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